


Ceremonial

by hardlyinhightown



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Emila Kashani (Original Apprentice), F/M, Ficlet, Other, bodypainting, henna tattoos, it gets a little sensual towards the end oops, no beta we die like men, that's a running theme in my fics it seems, written for a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 16:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16308806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyinhightown/pseuds/hardlyinhightown
Summary: “Would you paint me tonight?”“If you want me to.” Asra’s fingers slide over her shoulder, sketching some invisible design down her bicep and into the crook of her elbow. Always so considerate.-Emila can't decide on a tattoo design. She and Asra work on it.





	Ceremonial

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift to my friend after she said that her apprentice's tattoos are henna tattoos that Asra or she draws so the designs will change.
> 
> The apprentice featured is Emila Kashani and she belongs to my wonderful friend emrize on tumblr. This fic is written in like two hours by someone who has only played like the first six books of The Arcana and completely unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

i.

A part of Emila has always hesitated when it comes to permanence.

It’s not about where she makes her home; she could always leave if she wanted. It’s not about the length of her hair; it always grows back. It’s not about who she spends her days with; she still has more days.

It’s about tattoos.

She loves the way tattoos look, but she can’t settle on a design. Most days she adores Asra’s work the most, and even then choosing is too hard.

“I could paint on you,” Asra suggests. “We could use henna. That way you can have new tattoos every month.”

Emila likes the idea, both because it’s an answer and because she knows how soft and gentle Asra’s hands are. “Would you paint me tonight?”

“If you want me to.” Asra’s fingers slide over her shoulder, sketching some invisible design down her bicep and into the crook of her elbow. Always so considerate.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to,” Emila replies, voice teetering on the edge between gentle and amused. “We can pretend to be artists. Get a bottle of wine, something fancy to snack on… Like brunch, but at night.”

Asra hums against her collarbone. “Sounds lovely.”

Oh, how soft his hands are indeed.

 

 

ii.

Asra doesn’t object when she shrugs her shirt off. Then again, he’s never objected to that before. He merely raises his eyebrows slightly. “I thought we were only going to paint your arms.”

“We are,” Emila replies, dropping the garment haphazardly on the purple divan in the corner of the bedroom. They’d talked about the designs only a little. “I just don’t want henna on my second best tunic.”

“Fair enough.”

She settles on the divan, extending her arm. Asra brings a chair beside her to sit on and brushes his thumb against the inside of her wrist. “Any color preferences?”

“What colors do you have?” Emila peers into the cups Asra’s balancing on his knees.

“Black and reddish brown.”

“Oh, ha ha. Brown.” She closes her eyes at the first touch of Asra’s paintbrush. She finds she doesn’t overthink it if she doesn’t watch him paint.

It’s lovely. Even through her closed eyelids she can see the light of the setting sun that pours in through the blinds in the window, and the quiet chatter and traffic in the market nearby where vendors are gathering their wares, ready to call it a day and go home to their families. Asra doesn’t talk when he works, but sometimes his paintbrush clinks against the cups that he’s moved to the edge of the divan. Faust slithers softly across the floor, the sound muffled by the carpets, and Emila feels the snake sliding up to the divan. She brushes softly against her thigh before settling in a coil at her feet, like a domestic cat. The thought makes her smile.

They switch sides after a while when he’s done with her left arm, and Emila allows herself a moment to admire the ornate flower on her shoulder, caked with henna paste as it is.

 

 

iii.

The designs turn out beautifully, adorning the length of her arms with ornate circles and loops and patterns of dots and droplets. Mandalas, Asra calls them, and turns his head to hide his smile when Emila compliments his skills.

“Could you do my back, too?” she asks two days later when they’re finishing dinner.

Asra looks at her over the rim of his drink. “Are you sure?”

“Maybe I just love your hands on me,” she teases, and Asra’s ears flush red. It never gets old, and it’s such a lovely shade of red, too. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Alright then,” he relents with a soft laugh, so that night she climbs on the bed that’s been messily made; the covers have been thrown over the blankets with several decorative pillows strewn over the length of the bed. She pulls her top and undershirt off, exposing her back to Asra, before grabbing one of the pillows and settling on her stomach, the pillow tucked under her chin.

She isn’t expecting Asra to straddle her back, but he does. His hands are warm as they map the expanse of her bare back, brushing aside her hair before sliding down the curve of her spine. Emila suppresses a shiver.

“What do you want me to paint?” Asra asks.

“I don’t…” Emila loses her train of thought as Asra’s fingertips brush softly against her ribs. “A moon maybe?”

“I can do that.”

His hands disappear, and she almost asks him to touch her again. The paintbrush isn’t the same.

An hour later she hears the final clink of the paintbrush against the henna cup and a satisfied sigh, and she reaches back with her right hand and finds his thigh. He laughs quietly and gently removes her hand from where it was slowly stroking his leg.

“Killjoy,” Emila mumbles into the pillow, but it comes out just as a muffled whine.

“I will not let myself ruin the work I just finished on you, dear,” Asra replies, but he does kiss her shoulder before climbing off the bed.

 

 

iv.

“Will you do my sternum, too?” Emila asks the following day.

Asra doesn’t reply straight away; he’s always been good at telling when she’s trying to sound innocent. “If you want me to.”

“I do.”

She wasn’t originally really planning on distracting him, but later when she strips off her shirt and undergarments and lays on the bed on her back, arms swung above her head to allow Asra room to work, there’s a glimmer in the bottom of his eyes that tells her he’s caught up on her game.

Even if it wasn’t exactly a game before, it’s a game now.

He sets the cups of henna paste on the bedside table and slides his hands up her ribs, palms soft against her skin, never breaking eye contact. That’s when she realizes that he’s not even planning to paint her tonight, and that’s when she pulls him down to kiss her slowly and deeply, mischievously catching his bottom lip between her teeth.

It would be a sin for him to continue wearing clothes when she’s already half undressed, then entirely undressed. The brushes and the cups are forgotten on the bedside table as his fingers paint invisible designs of adoration down her stomach, over her hips, down her thighs and then back up again. He has such gentle hands, such clever fingers; a magician’s hands, of course, and he knows how to use them. She buries her face in his neck and whispers the answers to his designs, the professions of love and devotion drowning in the dip where his neck connects to his shoulder.

This, too, is art.

Later, then they lie languid in the middle of the bed, bodies sweaty and legs tangled in the covers, she lays her head on his chest and listens to his heartbeat. His hands draw along the lines on her back, following the endless mandala.

_(A week later he paints a heart on her sternum.)_

 

-

-

-

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! You can find me on twitter at @vilmastointi and on tumblr at @electricitytrick, come tell me about your apprentices. I also encourage you to go tell emrize on tumblr if you like her apprentice!


End file.
